


The Bi Who Lived

by postjentacular



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Daily Prophet, F/M, Girls looking out for their BFFs, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Homophobic Language, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Outing, Q-word used once but not as an insult, Terrible Punny Nicknames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 21:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8176255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postjentacular/pseuds/postjentacular
Summary: Harry Potter and his terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.





	

Harry and Ron were late. Ron was later than him, Harry thought to himself, at least he'd had time to get fully dressed and wasn't losing a battle with his robes as they raced down the stairs to the Great Hall under the staring eyes of half of first year. How was it that even now, after saving the world, Ron still couldn't get his robes on the right way round in time for breakfast?

"Ron," Harry began, "are they staring extra hard today?" he asked returning an equally hard stare to a trio of tiny Ravenclaws.

"Mate, you're The Chosen One," Ron replied pushing open the door of the Great Hall, "they're always staring extra hard." The usual din of two hundred students fighting over breakfast fell away almost instantly. "Okay," said Ron into the silence, "maybe extra **extra** hard today."

The boys slid into their usual seats at the end of the Gryffindor table opposite Hermione and Ginny. "So what have I done now?" Harry asked Hermione as the chatter began to return to the Hall, "Am I the new Minister of Magic? Did I get a sex change so I could captain the Harpies?"

"Maybe you've joined the Weird Sisters again," Ron said through a mouthful of bacon, "bassist this time though, less conspicuous."

Hermione shook her head and didn't crack a smile, "She didn't put her name on it, but it's got her fingerprints all over it."

"Skeeter?" Ron asked.

Hermione nodded in confirmation, "Who else?" She took The Daily Prophet from her lap and pushed it into the middle of the table. A paparazzi shot of Harry turning away from the camera glowered up at them from underneath the front page headline **GOLDEN BOY DUMPS GIRL FOR HOT NEW BOYFRIEND**. Harry froze for a just a moment, but it was a moment too long. 

"Bloody hell, mate!" Ron exclaimed, "It's not true, is it?"

Ginny pushed her plate away, "I just remembered, I need to be..." she muttered standing up, without causing a scene "...somewhere else" and she slipped out of the Hall behind a rowdy crowd of Hufflepuffs.

"Ronald," Hermione chastised, "when has anything that vermin writes ever been true?"

Harry sunk even lower into his seat, "I think I preferred it when I was Dumbledore and McGonagall's secret love child," he lamented to no one in particular.

Hermione arched her eyebrow in a silent question to her boyfriend; "What‽" Ron replied between shovelfuls of scrambled eggs. She pointedly sipped her tea, not breaking her stare. A stare which could only say _Do you want to be the one to talk to him about this now?_ He caved. Ron leaned across the table and stole a slice of toast from between her fingers, "I forgot I have the thing to do at that place," he waved his hands as if that would make everything clear and practically sprinted out the door behind his sister.

"Weasleys are terrible liars," Harry pointed out, needlessly.

"I, personally, think it's one of their most endearing features. It's certainly preferable to people who just don't answer difficult questions."

"I should go after her," but before he could get up Hermione interrupted.

"Harry Potter, you will sit here, you will eat your breakfast and you will not let that shrew of a woman's lies interfere with your day." Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, but she continued unabated, "Yes, you and Ginny and broke up but not because of this," she waved her hand dismissively at the newspaper on the table between them, "Ginny just needs someone to call you a complete tosser right now. Ron is more than capable of doing that."

"Ron thinks I'm a complete tosser?" he asked.

"No, yes," she stumbled, "I don't know, sometimes."

"Good," Harry gave a brief smile, "sometimes I am."

The two of them settled back into their breakfast, halfheartedly flipping through the rest of The Daily Prophet; the usual breakfast time din returned as a soothing white-noise backdrop to Hermione's explanation of the latest Dangerous Creatures Registration legislation which was to be debated in the Wizengamot later that week. McGonagall's _sonorus_ ed voice cut through the chatter as she bustled her way across the hall, "No hexing during meal times; Horace, please see to your house." The pot-bellied Potions Master reluctantly got up and started towards the eerily silent Slytherin table.

"They were talking about you," Hermione hissed across the table.

"'Mione," Harry pleaded, "tell me you didn't just nonverbally _langlock_ half of Slytherin?" She shook her head as behind her Slughorn threw _Finite Incantatem_ after _Finite Incantatem_ at his nest of snakes.

* * *

Harry kept his head down as he made his way into the dungeons for his last class of the day. A day which had been nothing short of a disaster so far: he'd left his Charms homework in the Common Room earning himself a fifteen inch essay on responsibility and organisation; Madam Pince remembered about one of his overdue books and doubled the late fee when he returned it with a pumpkin juice stain on the front cover; and he hadn't been able to go anywhere without overhearing some piece of outlandish gossip about himself - he even heard Peeves giving his thoughts on the morning's news to Sir Cadogan.

Harry had tried to time it so he'd be late enough to class that the corridors would be empty but not too late as to actually be late. As much as a favourite of Slughorn's as he was, he knew tardiness would still result in a detention he couldn't afford. Not even Slugclub members were immune from that. As a pair of bats flew past his head and he made it to the Potions classroom without a second to spare. "Mr Potter, how nice of you to join us, my boy," Slughorn boomed as Harry tried to slip into his seat next to Ron unnoticed. 

"Today, class, you will be brewing a Befuddlement Draught. You should all already be familiar with a Confusing Concoction, so who can tell me the difference between the two?" Hermione, as ever, gave a perfect answer, delighting Slughorn, who gave a little clap as the list of ingredients appeared on the blackboard in his slightly indecipherable handwriting. Before they began, Slughorn gave his usual final warning - as ever, directed mostly at Seamus - that he expected this lesson to pass without incident, explosion or accident. Seamus nodded dutifully and trudged behind the rest of the class to the ingredients cupboard.

To the professor's gratification, brewing happened with little occasion; the Ravenclaws, Hermione and most of Draco's group had their draughts bottled in what seemed like no time at all, Seamus had even began to fill his phials in what was shaping up to be his first accident-free lesson of the year. Ron, however, was not having much luck; he and Harry were bent over Ron's cauldron stirring the pale, watery brew which resolutely refused to thicken. "I think you should add more scurvy grass," Harry suggested retreating to give his own potion a final stir.

"You know or you're guessing?" asked Ron belligerently through the cloud of vapours rising between them. Hermione began to interrupt him to point out it seemed the potion was indeed working, but an eruption of orange goo and thick black smoke from Harry's cauldron stopped her. Harry, his workbench, textbook, the ceiling and floor were dripping with the noxious smelling ooze. 

"Mr Potter," Slughorn bellowed while vanishing the worst of the potion from Harry's robes; Harry plonked back into his chair as the rest of the class were dismissed for the day.

* * *

Another angry string of insults rushed from Ron's mouth as once again one of his own teammates scored against him. "What's up with him?" Harry asked as he thumped down next to Hermione in the empty Quiddich stands. His skin was a shiny red from where he'd scrubbed himself raw for almost an hour trying to remove the worst of the remnants of his potion, but hadn't been fully able to shift the smell of charcoal which he was certain had seeped right down into his bone marrow.

She put down _An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms_ , marking the page with her finger, "He's forgotten it's a friendly match, and the rest of them have forgotten what team they're on. Given their usual referee couldn't make it on account of being terrible at potions, Luna stepped in." 

"Luna‽" he asked, incredulously, "Surely Ginny would've made more sense?"

"Ginevra has been mysteriously missing since McGonagall found all of the third year Slytherins rolling round the Potions Corridor at lunchtime suffering from a particularly vicious Bat-Bogey Hex." Harry found himself wincing in sympathy with the Slytherins, "Luna is doing okay though," she continued, "if a little unorthodox. She doesn't know the rules and has been swapping the teams every fifteen minutes to keep it fair." One of the Patils scored another goal causing Ron to turn an even angrier shade of red, "If he lasts another fifteen minutes" she added conspiratorially, "I'll win ten Galleons."

Harry squinted at the goalkeeper, "He's got two minutes tops left in him."

"You're too late to make that bet, Zabini runs a tight ship, no late bets in a high stakes game and anyway," she nodded to the pitch where Ron was now marching huffily to the broom shed, "you'd have lost. Looks like drinks are on Terry."

She turned back to her book and he leaned back to watch the game. Losing a goalie seemed to have no discernible impact on the match, which continued just as haphazardly as it had been. "This would all have been a lot easier if McGonagall just let the eighth years try out for the house teams," Harry mused. 

Hermione murmured in disagreement, "You couldn't put second years up against you lot, it would be complete and utter carnage."

As Luna shuffled the teams once more, Harry turned to Hermione, "Do you still have today's paper?"

She answered offhandedly without looking up from her book, "You don't need to read those lies, Harry, let it go."

On the pitch, Neville was being clapped on the back by Anthony and Daphne in celebration of his first goal. None of the players were exactly sure if it was a own goal or not, but the distinction didn't seem to be particularly important to any of them.

"Let me see it, Hermione," Harry demanded, "I need to know what she's saying about me."

She looked up from her book, "You've never cared before about what she writes."

"This is different."

"It's her usual lie-filled drivel," Hermione reassured him, "it's no different from when she claimed you were Gilderoy Lockhart's long-lost half-brother."

They sat in silence watching their classmates zoom around the pitch for a few minutes until Harry spoke again, "What if it's not all lies?" he asked in an almost whisper. She closed her book and turned to meet his eyes, "What if," he continued, "the sentiment is right, but she just got some of the minor details wrong?"

"Harry," she asked uncertainly, "do you have a 'Hot New Boyfriend?'"

"Is that what the article says?"

She reached into her bag and pulled out the now-rumpled paper, "The rather sensationalist headline claims you have do," she began, and tapped the large letters above his photo, "however, the article is a just couple of quotes from an anonymous source followed inches upon inches of conjecture and judgement." 

Harry nodded at her to continue, she screwed her face up a little and took a deep breath before she did. "She claims you were using Ginny to cover up the truth and you split up when she caught you in bed with another boy," Harry opened his mouth to refute, but Hermione continued, "I know, that's a lie. She then goes on about how it shouldn't be a surprise to anyone that you 'turned out gay'. Seriously‽" Harry recognised the outrage in her voice that he hadn't heard since her S.P.E.W. days, "Doesn't The Prophet have any kind of editorial standards‽"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted before she went off on a rage-filled tangent, "the article?"

"Sorry," she skimmed the next few paragraphs before summarising, "she says it's not a surprise given who your Godfather was, then she rehashes-"

"What does she say about Sirius?" Harry asked, the anger beginning to simmer in his voice.

Hermione squeezed Harry's knee comfortingly, "Nothing new: he's your Godfather, he spent twelve years in Azkaban, how he and -" Harry gave a sigh. "Don't worry, by the time Teddy can read, this will be long forgotten about." He knew she was right, but it didn't make it any better. "Do you want me to go on?" Harry gave a slight nod, "She blames Dumbledore too, then she finishes up with this whole section on how you're corrupting the children, how this is no way for a hero to behave, how 'the agenda' will no longer be pushed at Hogwarts now McGonagall is Headmistress; it's your standard homophobic rhetoric."

"What does the source say?"

"Harry, the 'source'," he could hear the inverted commas in her tone, "is just an excuse for Skeeter to run her nonsense. She just needs something to hang her lies from and an anonymous source is perfect. There's no name so no one else can corroborate it; no independent evidence and when she does have to apologise for the lies it's one line on page twenty-seven between the lonely hearts column and an advert for at-home curse-breaking manuals and nobody even reads it anyway so-"

"Hermione," he interrupted, "if you won't tell me I'll just read it myself. Now, what did he say?" She handed the paper over in defeat and he began to read through the article. When he finished he closed his eyes and held his head in his hands. When he looked up, she was looking at him expectantly, "It's true. Not the dumping Ginny for him bit, but the other bits, the kissing boys bits."

"Boys‽ Plural?"

He nodded, "Only two."

"Do you know which one told her?" she asked as he stood up and began stalking back to the castle.

* * *

Draco Malfoy sat behind the professor's desk in an abandoned Transfiguration classroom. He leaned back in the chair with his feet on the desk and took a single bite from an apple. "You know," said an invisible voice, "that is something of a cliché. The villainous badboy taking a bite of an apple then leaving the rest. You might as well be cackling with your evil henchmen."

"I'll have you know," Draco drawled, "I have been perfectly well-behaved today. I haven't so much as said boo to a Hufflepuff." He heard the click of a _colloportus_ and saw the wards shimmer across the now-closed door before Harry appeared from under his invisibility cloak.

"I find that hard to believe," Harry countered, "traditionally my shitty days and Draco Malfoy go hand-in-hand, and seeing as how this is the shittiest day I've had since-"

Draco stood up and moved around to sit on the front of the professor's desk, "Potter," he interrupted haughtily, "whatever has got you all riled up, I can assure you it has nothing to do with me and," he lowered his voice salaciously, "must I remind you - lest you've been lying to both of us - some of your very best days have also gone hand-in-hand with Draco Malfoy." Harry strode across the room to stand dangerously close between Draco's legs and pulled his wand out, pressing the tip under Draco's chin.

"I know it was you, Malfoy," Harry pushed his wand slightly harder and watched Draco's head tip back and his Adam's apple bob, "I'm not that stupid."

"Clearly you are," Draco practically spat at him, "or perhaps you're hard of hearing? I told you it wasn't me." Harry said nothing, but gritted his teeth a little harder. "I've changed Potter, I wouldn't do that, not again."

"You did it to Ron last week and Seamus yesterday! Not that Seamus needed your help."

Confusion flashed across Draco's face, "What in the name of Merlin are you talking about, Potter?"

Draco leaned back out of Harry's reach as Harry's restraint broke and he gesticulated wildly, "Exploding cauldrons, scrubbing potions from the dungeon ceiling, a week's worth of detention!"

Draco let out a short, sharp chuckle, sounding almost relieved, "Okay, that was me, but Blaise dared me. It wasn't supposed to be quite so volatile and it wouldn't have been if someone," he tapped Harry squarely in the chest, "hadn't messed up the rest of the recipe." He leaned forward again now there was less chance of being hit by flailing limbs, "If you're going to be mad at anyone, it should be Blaise, I was just-" he wound his legs around Harry's thighs pulling him closer, "-keeping up appearances."

Harry looked deeply into his eyes, "You didn't think I was talking about Potions, did you?" he asked softly. Draco said nothing, but gave the slightest shake of his head and ducked away. Harry's heart melted on each and every rare occasion that Draco's mask of arrogance slipped, this time was no different. He leaned close, forehead to forehead, pulling Draco back to meet his eyes. 

"It wasn't me," Draco said quietly, "it wasn't me."

"I know," he whispered against Draco's lips. He felt Draco relax as arms wound their way around his waist, "I know." They stood like that, entwined, for what seemed like an eternity, trading chaste kisses and whispered reassurances.

* * *

The best thing about abandoned classrooms - especially Transfiguration classrooms - thought Draco, was the amount of junk stored in them ready to be turned into something much more useful. He sat in a pile of plump cushions which had once been copies of _Transformation Through The Ages_ with Harry leaning back against his chest, their hands on Harry's thighs, fingers intertwined.

"'The Bi Who Lived?'" Harry asked, Draco murmured in agreement, "That's what you would have gone with? I suppose it's better than 'Horny Poofter.'"

"You heard that one?" Draco asked, "Sorry, I thought Pans had put a stop to that over breakfast." He placed a quick peck in Harry's unruly mess of hair.

"That was Pansy‽" Harry craned his neck around to look at Draco, "Really‽ She jinxed the snakelets‽ Why?"

"Calm down, Chosen One, it wasn't for your benefit. She claims it was 'unimaginative and an insult to the creativity of Slytherins everywhere.'" Draco did a pretty good Pansy impersonation, "It was for me, she's training them out of puns."

"How come?"

"Doesn't matter."

"How come?" Draco tried to distract him with a trail of kisses up his neck, it didn't work, "How come?"

"She heard them calling me something."

"What?" questioned Harry.

"Doesn't matter."

"It can't be worse than 'Horny Poofter‽"

"It is," Draco said solemnly.

"Tell me."

"No."

"Tell me," Harry pleaded more insistently.

"No," Draco said between kisses.

"You can't distract me with kisses, what is it?"

"You know, your ex got one too, a nickname" Draco said changing the subject, "Ginger Beardsley."

"She's never going to forgive me for that," Harry cringed, "although it would explain the Bat-Bogey hex, but not why you're changing the subject." 

"No," Draco argued, "I was changing the object. It's completely different."

"Draco," Harry quirked his brow.

"Fine," Draco leaned back against the wall, "but you can't laugh."

"I can't promise that," Harry said, shifting slightly to turn and face Draco.

Draco took a deep breath to ready himself, "Gayco Boytoy."

Harry's chest shuddered silently with his choked laughter, he bit down on his knuckles to keep the sound in and only once he felt Draco struggle behind him with his own mirth did Harry allow himself to laugh aloud. "You're right," he said between their fits of giggles, "that is way worse."

Once their laughter subsided Harry leaned back against Draco while Draco's hands tousled Harry's already unruly hair. "So Pansy knows?" 

"Knows what?" Draco asked.

"That you're..." Harry trailed off.

"As queer as a copper knut?" Draco finished for him, "Yes, they all do; have done for years, they just don't broadcast it."

""Do they know about me?" Harry asked, trepidatiously.

"Potter," Draco said with his usual smirk, "they are literate eighteen year olds; they have the linguistic dexterity to understand The Daily Prophet's headlines. I think even Goyle can manage a whole paragraph now without a break."

"No," Harry corrected, "do they know about..." he gestured between them, then ventured "...about us?"

"Us?" Draco's eyebrow quirked as he asked the question. "No, not yet," Draco guided Harry to swivel round in his lap and face him, "I kind of enjoy having you all to myself for just now."

* * *

Hermione was ensconced in a woollen blanket by the fireplace in the Eighth-year Common Room with her Arithmancy textbook; she was the last one awake and losing a battle with the dying embers of the fire. She looked up to see the Portrait Hole open and close, but no one entered. "It's okay Harry," she called out to the seemingly empty room, "there's only me here." 

Harry popped into view from under his invisibility cloak, a little more dishevelled than normal - even for him - and gave her a sheepish look. "You weren't waiting up for me, were you?"

She shook her head, no, "Homework," she nodded to the textbook on her lap, "although Ron tried to. He fell asleep an hour ago." She shifted under the blanket and offered the newly-created space with a warm smile. Harry thought for just a second before joining her.

"Good book?" he asked.

"If you like the thirteenth century's take on the number seven."

"It's my favourite, much better than the drivel they were talking in the twelfth century. They didn't have a clue back then, thought it should come after eight. Sheer lunacy that was."

She smiled appreciatively, "How are you, Harry, really?"

"Really?" she nodded, "I'm okay. My day got better."

"Couldn't have really gotten any worse after Slughorn's class."

"No," he agreed, "it really couldn't have."

The pair of them sat in silence for a few moments before he spoke again, "I can hear you thinking 'Mione, just ask."

"Did you confront him?"

Harry shook his head, "No." She stared at him and he shook it again in confirmation.

"Very mature, Harry." She paused in thought for a moment, "So, if you weren't hexing some kiss-and-telltale, where have you been for hours? You missed dinner."

"Nowhere."

"Nowhere?" she questioned.

"Nowhere important, I was just..." he hesitated to find the right words, "...being mature."

"Harry James Potter!" she thwacked him with her textbook, which was harder than he expected, "Were you with your 'Hot New Boyfriend?'"

"Hot New Boyfriend?" he repeated.

"You know exactly what I mean and you're doing it again!"

"Doing what?" he asked innocently. Harry rose and untangled himself from the blanket, "Good night Hermione." 

* * *

Ten minutes later and two pages from the end of her chapter the Portrait Hole opened once again; as a particularly mussed-up Draco hurried past to the dormitories Hermione allowed herself a little smile.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Standard fanfic disclaimer:** If you recognise it, it belongs to J.K. Rowling; this is just fanfic for nothing other than entertainment purposes.


End file.
